


Sherlock One Shots

by BethKennedy_x



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, One Shot, POV John Watson, Sick John Watson, Sickfic, Worried Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-03 18:36:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17289260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethKennedy_x/pseuds/BethKennedy_x
Summary: Sherlock and John head out to solve another mystery, just like any other day. However,  this time John isn't feeling right.Rubbish summary, I know, but story is much better :)Includes lot's of fluff and worried Sherlock and Lestrade. Can be read as either a platonic relationship between Sherlock and John or a romantic one, however I did write it as purely a friendship fic.





	1. The one where John is sick

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is my first ever fanfic posted on this site so I hope you enjoy. If you have any feedback or if you want me to continue writing one shots (not necessarily for Sherlock, I am part of a bunch of different fandoms) please let me know. Thank you for reading :)

"Sherlock? Why is there a severed finger in the fridge?" asked a rather unimpressed John as he slammed the door shut with a groan. 

"Thumb" Sherlock replied simply over the the melody of his violin. 

John's face was a mixture of bemusement and irritation as he turned to face the detevtive. "Sorry?"

"It's a thumb John, I thought you were a doctor" Sherlock mused from his position in the living room. 

"I am a doc-no. No stop trying to change the subject Sherlock" John ordered, clearly sick of Sherlock's evasiveness. Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically before leaping up like a cat  
and gliding over to the fridge. He opened it and peered inside, pushing his nose in to sniff it's contents. John's stomach rolled as he watched his flatmate inspect the thumb.

"It's for an experiment John" Sherlock declared finally. John had the sudden but not foreign urge to punch Sherlock and he had to take a moment to recollect himself before answering.

"Right. of course. Experiment". John decided that breakfast could wait until he and Sherlock were out in the city and instead stuck the kettle on for a coffee. The thumb had turned John's  
stomach anyway, making him feel a little nauseous. However, he dismissed it with a shake of his head and tried to ignore the dull ache that seemed to have settled at the front of his skull.  
As always though, Sherlock had other plans and within seconds he was chucking John's coat at him and running out of the apartment. Having no other choice, John followed behind him, doing  
his best to keep up. His headache seemed to worsen as he bounded down the steps, and the shock of the cold winter air didn't help. Sherlock was frantically explaining their latest case  
whilst simultaneously waving down a cab. Every word that Sherlock uttered was a stab to John's head and he silently willed him to shut up. He seemed to get John's hint as they enetred the  
cab becauase he fell quiet, examining something on his phone with great interest. 

 

John laid his burning head on the cool glass and blearily watched the city pass by. Somewhere along the journey he heard Sherlock ask if he was alright but John waved him off, blaming his  
state on lack of sleep. All too quickly for John's liking the cab slowed to a stop and Sherlock was hurriedly jumping out of the car, not even bothering to thank the driver. John sighed  
and hastily paid the guy so he could follow the detective into the crime scene. John was suprised to find himself at a warehouse almost 30 minutes away from his and Sherlock's apartment.  
He didn't recall being in the taxi that long. The warehouse was vast and seemingly abandoned, although John had a feeling that they would find an inhabitant or two within its dark depths. 

Sure enough, Sherlock suddenly appeared in front of John's face, babbling on about a supposed suicide which was evidently a murder and how that was so painfully obvious beacuse of his haircut  
and the stain on his shirt. Within seconds, John found himself being dragged along by Sherlock right under the police tape and into the murder scene. 

On the floor of one of the rooms was a man in his late thirties with a bullet wound to his head. The gun lay limp in the victim's hand. Sherlock immediately started darting about the body,  
rattling off the various reasons why it was clearly a murder to Lestrade, who John didn't even remembering arriving in the first place. He rubbed a hand over his clammy face in an  
attempt to waken himself up. The stench of the body was ripe, meaning that the victim had been killed (yes killed, John didn't doubt for a second that Sherlock was wrong) a good couple days  
ago, at least. The rotting smell flipped John's stomach, and for a startiling couple of seconds John was sure he would puke. 

"John, you alright there mate?" Lestrade questioned, concern evident in his frown. "You look white as a sheet" 

Sherlock's head snapped up from where he was crouching over the gun, and John's back impulsively straightened.

"Of course, I'm fine. Tired is all" John said as casually as possible under Sherlock's scrutinizing gaze. He seemed to contemplate John's answer before shrugging it off and ushering him  
over to inspect the victim. John took a bracing breath through his mouth as he joined Sherlock by the dead man. The smell was even worse close up, making John's stomach turn uncomfortably.  
Blinking away the blurriness that had suddenly started obscuring his vision, John completed a basic analysis as quickly as possible, becoming irritated when Sherlock seemed to simply  
nod along with his conclusions as if he had known what John would deduct all along. The pounding in his head increased to an agonsing level as Sherlock pushed him impatiently out of the way  
whilst rapidly and loudly deducting his own conclusions. John couldn't hear him though over the immense ringing in his ears. Only then did it occur to him them maybe something wasn't right  
but it was too late by then. He vaguely remembered a hand on his shoulder, steadying him as he swayed. John tried to bat them away, but only succeeded in losing his balance. The last thing  
he remembered was a wave of vertigo as he pitched forward and fell uncerimoniously onto the ground. By the time he hit it, he was already unconscious. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

John.John.John. His name echoed painfully in his head. He registered somebody shaking him, and then cupping his face and giviving that a shake too. John tried to tell the person that he  
didn't appreciate being manhandled like that, but all that came out was a groan. "John, come on, time to wake up" came a concerned voice from somewhere aboive him. When did he fall asleep?  
And why was the voice above him? It took another shake of his arms for John to finally squeeze his eyes open. He quickly closed them again when the flash of a light burned his eyes.

"That's it John, take it easy" came another voice, and John realised belatedly there was somebody else there. Swallowing roughly, he blinked his eyes open again, this time forcing himself  
to keep them open and adjust to the bright light. His breathing was heavy as his dazed mind whirred. He wanted to ask whoever was with him what happened but once again all he could get out  
was a confused "Whaaa?" 

"John! How are you feeling? Are you dizzy? Nauseous? In pain?" questioned one of the voices hurriedly, and somewhere in the back of John's bemuddled mind he noted that the person sounded  
unusually worried. He tried to make out who it was but all he could see was a blurry haze of dark hair and blue eyes. The name "Sherlock" popped into his head and it took much longer than  
it should have done for John to remember who that was."Shhelck?" he mumbled. After a couple more rapid blinks, the haze cleared slightly and the familiar face of Sherlock Holmes peered  
down at him with a frown. 

"Yes John, it's Sherlock. Are you alright?" He seemed to have assessed John's state better and decided to stick to less confusing questions in a quieter tone, which John was grateful for.  
He managed to nod in reply before cringing in pain from moving his head. "Headache, clear from his reaction to head movement. Pale. Sweaty. Feverish. Shaky" Sherlock ticked off from above  
him and it wasn't until then that John remembered what happened. 

"I fell" John stated, suprised when his thoughts were spoken aloud. "No, you fainted" Sherlock contradicted sternly and he almost sounded upset. 

"You went pale all of a sudden. Started swaying. Next thing we knew you were on the ground. You were out for a while mate" Lestrade piped up from his place by John's shoulder and John  
tried his best to not looked shocked by his appearance, had he been there the whole time? "Yeah John, I was here, don't you remember?" Lestrade shared a concerned glance with Sherlock  
who had taken to checking John's pupils with a pen light. John snapped his mouth shut as his cheeks flushed, he hadn't meant to say that out loud. Finally, his head cleared enough for him  
to actually contribute to the conversation without embarrassing himself further.

"I'm fine Sherlock, it's fine. I just got dizzy. Happens to the best of us" John dismissed tiredly as he pushed against Lestade's arms and tried to sit up. Immediately, both men were by  
his side, pushing him back down again. "Easy John, don't want you passing out again" Lestrade advised. John rolled his eyes as best as he could with his ever present headache. 

"I am fine guys, okay? I won't die if I sit up" He huffed before once again pushing himself up. This time both men aided him by each supporting an arm, which was good because  
as soon as John shifted upwards he was hit with another wave of dizziness that left his head spinning and his eyes fluttering. Sherlock leaned him gently into his side and cupped his face  
again with his free hand until John's eyes cleared. 

"You need a doctor" he ordered firmly and John groaned. 

"I am a doctor Sherlock, remember?" He reminded him, not only to prove his point but to also show that he could recall previous conversations. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he surveyed  
his flatmate. 

"Yes but as this moment in time you are unable to properly diagnose yourself therefore we need another doctor" Sherlock's voice was kept deliberately low as he was conscious of how close  
John's head was to his mouth. John's was glad of this as Sherlock's hushed baritone was a relief from the normal loud tone Sherlock used. Exhaustion had settled deep into John's bones  
and behind his eyes as he sat half slumped against Sherlock. 

"Please, Sherlock. I've just got the flu. I want to go home" It sounded pitiful to his own ears but he felt so drained he didn't even care. Sherlock thankfully put up no more arguments,  
instead asking Lestrade to help John to stand. A couple minutes later John found himself outside in the blissfull chill of November, stumbling along next to his taller conterpart and  
into a cab by the side of the road. When and how that got there so fast, John didn't know but at that point he didn't have the energy to question it. Instead, he collapsed into his seat  
and leaned his head appreciatively into the pleasantly cold glass. Sherlock told the driver the address of the apartment, making John chuckle when he offered to pay double if the driver  
ignored red lights. He half-heartedly swatted Sherlock dissaprovingly and Sherlock shurgged as if to say 'it was worth a shot'. The ride went in quickly as John chose to doze for most of it,  
only wakening when Sherlock would prod him to check if he was still alive. 

 

Soon enough they found themselves back in their messy apartment which still had papers and documents everywhere from their last case. It was then that John remembered about the dead man  
from the warehouse. "That man, Sherlock. The case, you need to go back" 

Sherlock shook his head as he helped John out of his coat and went to get him pain killers. "John, I told you, definetely a murder. Killed by his sister no doubt, it was  
all in the haircut" He answered distractedly as he filled a mug up with cold water. Sherlock ushered him up to his room where John gladly burrowed into his bed and accepted the pills.  
He took a moment to survey his companion, who hovered unsurely by his bedside. It was unsettling seeing Sherlock look so uncertain. 

"I'm fine Sherlock. Simple case of the flu" John reassured him from his place underneath the covers. "Should be over it in a couple days" 

Sherlock's face went from anxious to dissapointed in seconds. "Days? What am I going to do until then?" Sherlock asked dismayed. John chuckled lightly and peered up at Sherlock's face.

"Go find another case whilst I sleep this off Sherlock. Don't worry about me, there will be plenty more cases" 

Sherlock looked reluctant but John could tell he was eager to get moving again. "You're sure?" He checked and John nodded with a lazy smile. 

"Yeah, now get out so I can get some sleep". Sherlock laughed at John's bluntness before gently pulling the curtains closed and heading over to the door. Before he could leave, John found  
himself piping up. "Thanks. For today. It was nice of you to help" 

Sherlock went quiet for a moment, and without turning round he replied "The thumbs shall be gone by the time you wake up, and I will refrain from experimenting for the time being" 

He wasn't facing him, but John could still hear the smile in his voice. With a flick of his jacket, the door closed and Sherlock was gone. Away to solve another mystery with his brilliant  
mind. John snuggled deeper into the bedsheets and let sleep consume him, knowing that in a matter of hours Sherlock would come bounding in with a new case that he wanted John's help with.  
It wasn't easy being the world's only consulting detective's sidekick, but he wouldn't trade it for the world.


	2. The one where they are kidnapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John awaken in a cell that is completely empty (except from the bomb that's set to a 30 minute countdown) with no way out. The stakes are high with their limited time, will they get out before the timer reaches 0? 
> 
>  
> 
> Again, I am absolutely rubbish at summaries, hopefully the chapter itself is better!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Just wanted to say a quick, but huge thank you to everyone who read the first chapter of this series! I cannot believe I have over 100 hits already, I never expected that many people to read my work! Of course bonus thanks are in order to the people who left kudos and comments, the support is very much appreciated :) 
> 
> Also, I want to apologise in advance for any spelling/grammatical errors in my work, I'm not the best at typing and quite a lot of the time I make mistakes and don't realise. 
> 
> Anyway, enough rambling. Hope you guys enjoy!!

John quite literally felt as though he had been hit by a bus. His head thumped rapidly along with his heart and there was a sharp pain in his side every time he inhaled. To top it all of, he was almost certain (without even opening his eyes) that his nose was broken. Forcing his sticky eyes open, he tried to get a sense of where he was. There wasn't really much to see as the room (or wherever he was) was almost pitch black. Squinting, he could just about make out the silhouette of a tall figure slumped in the opposite corner. If it weren't for his trademark curls, John wasn't sure he would have recognised his friend in the dark. His heart squeezed in worry at the sight of his clearly unconscious flatmate. 

 

"Sherlock!" John hissed gently, not wanting to alert their captors. "Sherlock, wake up!" 

From where he was handcuffed John heard a groan come from the man and he couldn't help but sigh in relief upon hearing his friend. John continued calling his name as  
loudly as he dared until Sherlock finally came to. 

"John?" He asked in a dazed voice. Immediately John's mind began whirring with possible injuries that could have been inflicted on Sherlock. Possible concussion and broken bones? or perhaps something far more sinister like internal bleeding or skull fractures? His frenzied thoughts were interupted when Sherlock uttered his name into the darkness between them again and John realised he hadn't replied the first time. 

"Yes Sherlock it's me, it's John. Are you okay?" He questioned worriedly. Sherlock seemed to hesitate before answering. 

"Yes. I think so" he whispered back before adding "Are you okay? Anything I should be worried about?" 

"Eh, no. No I don't think so." John replied vaguely. His answer wasn't exactly true, but he reckoned it was okay to lie as he was almost certain that Sherlock was also lying about his condition. He waited for Sherlock to answer but instead was met with silence. 

"Sherlock?" 

"Shut up. I'm thinking" He stated bluntly. John rolled his eyes (which he instantly regretted as it only intesified the pain in his head) at the detective but decided not to argue. After all, Sherlock was his best and only shot of getting home. They stayed that way for a while until Sherlock's voice broke the intense quiet. 

"Do you remember anything?" 

John cast his mind back to the last thing he remembered but all he seemed to recall was something about getting coffee earlier on. 

"Not much really. We, uh, got coffee? This morning?" he tried, hoping that he wasn't missing out on too much. Sherlock sighed audibly before he replied. 

"That was yesterday morning. This morning Mrs Hudson came upstairs to complain about me shooting the wall". John swallowed the panic he felt building and nodded back at Sherlock before remembering it was dark and he couldn't see. 

"Oh yeah. Right, of course" 

Sherlock was no doubt about to call his bluff when suddenly overhead lights switched on, illuminating the room. They were the flourescent lights you would expect to see in public toilets, and they buzzed and flickered ominously. After blinking away the initial after shocks imprinted in his vision, John got his first proper look at Sherlock. He had splotches of blood staining his normally pristine shirt and his  
face was swollen and bruised on the left side. The lights made his skin look translucent and sickly, his face gaunt . Sherlock's bright blue eyes were darting around manically and John could tell from experience that he was absorbing all of the information from the room, sucking it dry until he knew everything he could possibly know. In the back of John's mind somewhere he reckoned it was pretty remarkable how Sherlock could take in so much information and reach a solution so quickly. Sherlock's eyes finally landed on the large steel door of their metal cell. It was completely smooth all the way across, with seemingly no weak points. Their was a keypad that John presumed with the right passcode would free them but unfortunately even if he weren't tied up, even Sherlock himself wouldn't be able to figure out the code with this little to go on. 

 

When Sherlock's eyes finally glanced over John's way, Sherlock done a dramatic double-take, which would've been funny if it weren't for the look that crossed Sherlock's face. 

"You look terrible" he said with a furrowed brow and John huffed out a humourless laugh. 

"You aren't looking that great yourself Sherlock" John replied with a raised eyebrow. A pit of unease settled in John's stomach as Sherlock continued to scrutinize him carefully. He wanted to straighten up more but knew that in doing so it would further aggravate his ribs so he decided against that. Instead he tried to wear a mask of indifference and slight bemusement despite the face that Sherlock would most likely see right through it. 

"What other injuries were inflicted upon you John, other than the obvious concussion and bruised ribs?" Sherlock asked sternly, demanding John to answer truthfully. John shifted uncomfortably under Sherlock's gaze but eventually answered with a sigh. "Broken nose, dislocated shoulder maybe. It's hard to tell. You?" 

"Some knife wounds across my abdomen, one particularly deep one is still bleeding a bit, but it isn't life threatning" Sherlock deducted, carefully peeling his bloodied shirt away from the wound with a hiss. John wanted to tell him to stop fussing with it but the sound of thudding outside the door made the words catch in his throat. John glanced over to Sherlock to check if he had heard and sure enough Sherlock's head was cocked to one side and his face was one of deep concentration. The thumping quickly grew louder and John caught Sherlock mouthing the word "stairs" over to him, and John nodded in confirmation. Suddenly, their was a rush of air as the cell door was pushed open. 

A figure dressed in all black walked into the room, holding what initially looked like a blank sheet of paper. However, when John squinted he could make out words written in a fancy scrawl covering the page. The unknown figure silently placed the sheet on the floor before turning on his heel and walking out again. Sherlock attempted to interrogate him, but he refrained from answering. Almost as soon as he left the room Sherlock began firing off various deductions he had made about the anonymous person but he was cut short by two identical figures entering the room, this time holding a large cardboard box. John eyed the men distrustfully, the feeling of unease making his hairs stand on edge. Sherlock once again tried to question the men on who they were and what they wanted but they simply ignored him. 

After carefully placing the box down one of them smoothly pulled out a gun and pointed it straight at John's head. The barrel of the gun was placed firmly against his forehead and his breath hitched painfully. Sherlock's face drained of colour and John watched as he swallowed roughly. He could see his friend's pale eyes watching the men raptly, calculating their next moves. 

"If you hurt John Watson I guarantee I will track you down and kill you myself" Sherlock warned with a dangerous edge to his voice. The two figures once again ignored him and continued to stand still, as if waiting on instructions. The next few moments dragged by, feeling more like hours to John than seconds. The cool metal of the gun pressed into John's head theateningly. His heart pounded madly in his chest as he sat with baited breath. He wanted to speak to Sherlock, but feared that even uttering a word would result in his untimely death. Finally, the man holding the gun raised his free hand up to his ear as if he was listening to something and then nodded swiftly to his comrade.

The other man walked quickly behind John and began unlocking his handcuffs. As soo as they were off the gun against his head was suddenly up against Sherlock's and John had no choice but to sit still as the man freed Sherlock. Then, just as quickly as they came, they left. Sherlock immediately stood and raced over to the door. John's protests to his sudden movements were drowned out by Sherlock's rambling under his breath so John gave up trying to get through to him and instead started inching his way over to the box that was left by their captors. Almost as soon as he started moving towards it though, Sherlock interrupted. 

"John. Do not move any closer to that box" Sherlock commanded, and the look of panic of his face made John halt his movements. 

"Why? Sherlock, what's in the box?" John asked. He attempted to mask the anxiety in his voice but it still shook precariously and John realised that he was actually quite scared. Not because they had been kidnapped (to be honest when you're friends with somebody like Sherlock things like this are expected, sometimes even anticipated) but because of Sherlock's state. He stood slightly hunched at the other corner of the room, his usually tall and confidant stance replaced by a pale and swaying young man. His shirt was sticking to him in various places due to the sweat and blood that coated him. But, the most unnerving thing about it was his expression. 

He looked frightened. 

John couldn't remember a time that Sherlock had ever looked so genuinely scared in his life. A ball of anxiety weighed down in John's chest as he watched Sherlock's eyes scan the box suspiciously. 

"I think-I think it's a bomb John." Sherlock admitted carefully and John immediately edged back to the wall, ignoring the shooting pains in his ribs. 

"A bomb? How...how do you know?" John exclaimed in shock, now eying the cardboard box with the same suspicion as Sherlock. 

"Didn't you see how they were carrying it? They were gentle, careful, as if carrying something delicate. My best guess is a bomb" Sherlock explained quickly. In normal circumstances Sherlock would have happily dragged that explanation out but the fact that he kept it so brief spoke volumes to John. Cautiously, Sherlock made his way over to the box until he was crouched down low next to it. John held his breath as Sherlock carefully pulled back the cardboard flaps and opened the box. For one moment, the tension hung in the air heavily as Sherlock peered into the box. 

He nodded affirmingly. "A bomb" he said quietly. John's released the breath he had been holding in disbelief. He couldn't believe he was trapped in a cell with Sherlock Holmes and a bomb. Any other Tuesday night would be spent reading the newspaper in his beloved chair or chasing criminals with Sherlock by his side, but this time he was actually stuck in a room with a deadly device and no way out. 

"We need to be quick John, there is a timer and it's began counting down" Sherlock declared, and John was suprised and rather relieved to hear the familiar bravado returning to his voice. 

"How long do we have?" he asked with furrowed brows. Sherlock lips his lips anxiously before twisting to look at John. The ball of anxiety in John's chest became immposibly heavier when he saw the remorse of Sherlock's face. 

"30 minutes" 

The breath was forced out of John's lungs, causing a painful coughing fit to emerge. Sherlock ignored John's clear discomfort, instead rushing over to the forgotten slip of paper discarded on the floor. He read it quickly, then read it again. And again. And again, until John (who had finally managed to catch his breath again) grew impatient. 

"What does it say?" John asked urgently but instead of answering Sherlock walked over to John and handed him the note before beginning to pace the length of the room with his eyes closed. 

The note read: 

Dear Mr Homes and Dr Watson, you have been placed in a room with no exits other than the door you shall see at the front. In order to leave this room and return home safely to your apartment in Baker Street, you must figure out the 6 digit passcode. The only hint I will give you is that it is personal to you both. You have 30 minutes before the bomb blows you both to pieces. Happy solving. 

"Well...this isn't ideal" John admitted and Sherlock chcuckled lightly. It was reassuring seeing Sherlock looking more like himself again, and John figured he was already trying to solve the puzzle. 

"A 6 digit code personal to us both. We can rule out birthdays, anniversaries and other celebratory dates as for one that would be far too simple and also because they aren't personal to us both. Our address is too short, and once again would be far too simple. Neither of our names fit the criteria." Sherlock listed off quickly. John could almost see the clogs whizzing in his head. 

"How about cases? Any codes we solved in past cases that are significant?" John questioned and after a small pause Sherlock shook his head. 

John and Sherlock continued to suggest ideas to each other as the timer ticked by. With every wasted minute the tension grew until both men were on edge. 

"No John that is a stupid idea, it couldn't possibly be that!" Sherlock cried impatiently and John scoffed. A heavy silence filled the room as they both watched the box in dismay. 

"Personal to us both...a date that is personal to us both" John murmered under his breath as he desperately searched his mind for an answer to the puzzle. Sherlock walked over to the bomb and glanced at the timer, before uttering quietly "8 minutes to go John". He began pacing again. John bit his lip anxiously and for the first time he truly considered the chance of them dying there. He watched Sherlock insistently rack his brain and John was overcome with admiration for his friend. No matter the odds, no matter how deep in bother they were, Sherlock never gave up. Not even when he was almost dead on his feet. 

"I'm glad we are friends Sherlock" John spoke aloud, stopping Sherlock in his tracks. John wasn't expecting Sherlock's full attention, in fact he was anticipating Sherlock to tell him to shut up but he stood silently in the middle of the room. After a moment, he smirked slightly. 

"You wouldn't be here if you never met me" Sherlock reasoned logically, but John dismissed his so called logic with a wave of his hand. 

"I don't care. I am glad I met you Sherlock Holmes" John smiled sincerely and he was almost sure Sherlock was going to give in and say something sentimental as well when suddenly his face changed to one of sheer delight. 

"oh..Oh John, you genius!" He cried out triumphantly. Much to John's suprise, Sherlock turned dramtically to the door and punched in a passcode. There was a pause where John was sure the door wouldn't open, then, against all odds, a clicking sound echoed around the room. John couldn't supress the laugh that escaped him as he stared in wonder at Sherlock. 

"What was the passcode?" John asked but Sherlock waved the question away. "No time, we only have 3 minutes left" Sherlock reminded John as he helped pull him up. Together, they supported each other as they hurried through the heavy door and up the concrete steps, their footsteps echoing off the walls as they bounded up as quickly as they could. Bursting through the last set of doors, they found themselves in the middle of a grassy field. John tried to slow to a stop once they were out, every breath he took feeling like a stab in the chest, but Sherlock urged him on until they were far enough away. They both collapsed against a tree and watched as the bunker they had been trapped in suddenly burst open and engulfed the grass nearby in flames. The booming sound reverberated loudly and both men winced at the sound. Eventually, the ringing in John's ears subsided and their heavy breaths filled the quiet. The flames that were licking at the grass cast a orange glow on both the men in their otherwise dark surroundings. The grass felt wet beneath John, and he hoped that meant that the fire wouldn't spread as much. 

"Well. That was a tad dramatic" John winced as he tried to settle into a more comfortable position on the damp ground. Sherlock watched his pained movements with a matching grimace. 

"I expect the police have already been called by the inhabitants of the houses over there" He said pointing to the estate up the hill. "Paramedics will arrive shortly after"

"You need help too Sherlock" John stated and looked Sherlock dead in the eye so he knew John was being serious. Sherlock rolled his eyes stubbornly, but after another couple moments under John's glare he gave up, much to John's relief. Another couple minutes passed before John broke the silence again. 

"Are you going to tell me the passcode then?" John asked curiously. Sherlock kept his eyes locked onto the horizon as he answered. 

"The 4th of March, last year". John was confused for a moment before the date's significance dawned on him. 

"The date we met? You remembered it?" John was suprised to find a smile edging it's way onto Sherlock's face. 

"Of course. It was the day I met my favourite blogger" he answered simply, and John chuckled in response. 

"I meant what I said earlier Sherlock. I'm glad we met" 

The distant sound of sirens echoed in the streets as Sherlock began discussing theories as to who was behind their kidnappings, their brief moment of sincerity pushed aside. But the moment sayed with both men, for it was the first conversation of it's kind. It was the first time Sherlock openly showed sentient. 

And John resolved to never let Sherlock live it down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! This isn't my best piece of work and for that I am sorry. I will try to make the next chapter better :D I am not sure when I will get the chance to add the next chapter to this series as it is currently my practise exams in school so my time is being consumed by studying, but I will try to upload soon! 
> 
> Remember, if you enjoyed this chapter and would like to see more like it please leave a kudos. If you are feeling extra generous, or if you would maybe like to leave a prompt for future chapters, don't hesitate to leave a comment. The kudos and comments honestly brighten my day so thank you to everyone again who has left them so far!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading my one shot. Don't forget to leave Kudos if you enjoyed it and hopefully I will be adding some more chapters and stories to the site!


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